


We are our own religion (we bleed our own blood)

by Catherines_Collections



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Allen Walker is a Noah, Allen's always been too good at hiding his crazy, Cross didn't help of course, Exorcist are death walking, Exorcist are walking tragedies, Fate fears her exorcist more than she loves them, Gen, God is gone and his chosen ones reign on, Mana screwed him up good, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, The fourteenth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherines_Collections/pseuds/Catherines_Collections
Summary: Cross had said to him once, gaze too sharp to be drunk but words too slurred to be sober, that exorcist have no use for God. No use for the creator who damned them and cursed their blood and bodies, who remains silent as they die performing what they are told to be his work, but he has many for them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually titled in my drafts as Allen and Kanda in a church, and really that's about it. This contains plenty of religious imagery, unhinged Allen (my fav), contemplative Kanda, and absolutely no dialogue. I'm really not that happy with the beginning but it gets better I promise!
> 
> There are mentions of Noahs though, so that's always a bonus! I have no idea where this would go canon wise, but it's definitely after ch.167. 
> 
> Yes, I know. I am a huge sucker for Allen being the fourteenth and him feeling the sharp sting of Mana's betrayl. I am very very open for prompts for this fandom! Though, preferably less ship centered ones:)!
> 
> I own nothing but the title, hope you enjoy!

Allen doesn't remember when they start– Kanda’s obvious observations. 

He thinks it must have been somewhere between when Lavi returned with a blank expression and few words to give on Bookman's sudden passing, and when Komui was hospitalized, along with Reever and a few other members of the science branch, and Lenalee had returned soon after with blood in her teeth.

He thinks it must be around these two events because it is not too long after that he and Kanda are sent on a mission: stop Akuma attacks occurring in a nearby village, and retrieve any innocence found. 

It’s a usual mission, and they receive it gracefully with minimal fuss - he and Kanda have both grown past the point of arguing over their assignments and the fact they often must work together. Allen stopped because he believes it is nice to have someone at his back, even if it is Kanda, and Kanda stopped because he finally realized the uproars were futile - but the assignment carries a somber air to it Allen thought he was long past feeling. And he suspects it may have to do with the fact that Komui delivered the news to them from a hospital bed, with a wrapped head and bandages smeared a light red. 

They don’t talk on the train. He busies himself with thoughts on how Komui and the others are doing - thinks of how Lenalee's eyes were darker than normal when she returned. Shadows lingering beneath her sockets and trying to finding a way to crawl inside and smother their remaining shine. He thinks of how cold and detached Lavi’s voice had sounded when he had corrected Kanda’s usage of his name, demanding to be addressed as Bookman instead from there on out. Allen remembers how the room around them had frozen and no one said a word more, Lavi’s cold correction an echo - and allows himself to drift. 

It is only when he first greets their finders, Kanda exiting the train still silent behind him, that he realizes it is the first he has spoken since their mission was assigned.

.

He doesn’t remember the first day of their mission, only the somber feeling that lingers in his body and briefly stretches across his soul when they are informed that they have one, and maybe that’s really when they start: Kanda staring when he thinks Allen isn’t looking, lingering and quiet and always present. 

Allen wonders how much Kanda knows. What he has been told of the monster taking the form of an exorcist; what Kanda has been commanded to do in order to warrant such blatant observation. Lavi’s obvious attention he expects, but Kanda’s – always silent and strong and much too stubborn and smart to ever reveal feelings unwanted or wear anything but a mask – he does not.

The first night there are no disturbances, he recalls when he thinks back on it. He sleeps in the bed provided and tries his hardest to rest: to prepare for the inevitable. 

.

When he dreams it is of Kanda’s gaze slicing through him, as sharp and precise as mugen, a perfect line right down the middle: cutting the Noah inside of him out. It dissolves into dust, turning to ash before his eyes - mouth opened in a silent scream, eyes cold and finally dead - and Allen feels warm blood trickle out from his mouth and into his smile as he meets Kanda’s gaze.

.

The second night, after a day filled with battles barely won and too many souls lost, brings him to an old church. 

He’s lost Link somewhere along the way. And losing an assigned observer, he thinks, testifies for how chaotic their mission has been. He really should know by now that hardly anything ever goes as expected. 

Allen runs his fingers through the dust collecting on the empty pews as he walks down towards the front. 

He does not care much for churches, but he has always found them more reverent than the religion they were built for. And perhaps it is that thought – along with the images of burning souls and lost voices fresh and present in his mind – that brings him to his knees, and silently, desperately, parting his lips. 

The thick scent of dust and old books overwhelm his senses, and he relishes the cold and bruising feeling in his knees as he kneels, (the church floor is just as cold and unforgiving as everything else he has faced and it’s no wonder really: he doesn’t expect comfort from God of all beings, not the same God who allows such evils to exist and continue on, who allows his chosen ones to protect the rest of his creation and cares not if children are to grow up fearing such a title) and the sharp and subdued breathes taken in-between quoting passages.

He breathes and thinks - Lenalee and bloody teeth, Lavi and cold eyes, Kanda and sharp glances - and moves his lips, beginning to mouth words before he even knows what he is saying.

Some are old proverbs of Mana’s mumbled in-between circus moves and learned during important lessons for acts in an upcoming show.

(He doesn’t say these too much anymore. He locks them up tight and seals them away, refusing to let them be touched by the constant and consuming waves of betrayal that engulf and tear at him. 

(Mana, he said he loved me, but was it me or-  
He took me in, why why why, did he know already? Did he plan for this? Did I really chose my own path or-))

Others are quotes he’s learned from Cross – mostly slurs and curses, bitter verses weaved with time and intended to cut down God where he stands. 

(Cross had said to him once, gaze too sharp to be drunk but words too slurred to be sober, that exorcist have no use for God. No use for the creator who damned them and cursed their blood and bodies, who remains silent as they die performing what they are told to be his work, but he has many for them. Allen doesn’t recite those words exactly but he thinks them, channels his anger and hatred into them and reminds himself to breathe through his clinched teeth.)

And lastly a few, small passages stuffed in between old proverbs and quotes and mumbled near hysterically, he quotes the short piece of biblical text he remembers:

Oh father,  
Who art in heaven,  
Hallow be thy name.

Cross called it the gravestone of the human heart.

As most often the words were mumbled as a sacred prayer sent up in swarms with pleading eyes and the bitter tastes of desperation and hope stuck on the tongue, and would remain unanswered, but still be repeated. Over and over and over until those who would repeat the words died, and the words would be buried with them, engraved on their hearts. 

The words were repeated, Cross had sneered, because hope was a dangerous and foolish thing that humans tended to fall straight into, but could never crawl back out of. 

He barely notices when Kanda joins him – his head and knees pressed against hard and cracked floors, lips moving and then burning with every silent proverb muttered.

(He wonders idly, his lips still burning and throat aching, if Noah’s are even permitted to pray. Or if the punishment for betraying God’s trust is the inability to speak with him. He wonders if Tyki has tried, if Road ever thinks about it. He wonders if the burning in his throat and aching in his bones is even remotely akin to what it must feel like to be a fallen.)

The building is collapsing around them; half in part of the Akuma attacks from earlier, and half from age and abandonment. He wants to laugh at the sight of it, two exorcists shackled by God and taking refuge in his fallen house, but instead he takes a breath and turns slightly to watch Kanda. 

He is still standing, too prideful to ever kneel, a part of his mind sneers. 

(Or perhaps it isn’t pride that prevents him, another part of himself whispers. Perhaps it is anger, the rising bitterness Allen knows all too well, that takes hold and chokes and suffocates until you can no longer think of anything other than how wrongit all is, how little you can do about it, how few things you can truly protect.)

Kanda stands, head bowed in silence. The only movement he makes is when he reaches back to pull off the material holding his hair in place, freeing it and allowing it to shield his face. 

Later, Allen will find it hysterical that the one time he and Kanda have succeeded in being civilized in each other’s company is in the midst of a mission on the dusty floor of an abandoned chapel.

He will laugh, shaking and nearly hysteric in his own right - unhinged in a presentable way: a perfectly formed show, presented for the sake of those surrounding him. Only showing what he must and hiding the rest; displaying the broken boy they all expect, never hide too much and give yourself away, and burying the parts they may find truly disturbing or alarming. He does abide by and utilize most of the lessons Mana taught him; he is not too prideful as to overlook important lessons simply for the sake of an earth shattering betrayal. Idly, he will wonder what Kanda would say if he knew exactly how insane he truly is, and the thought will only cause more giggles to bubble up into his throat - and gripping his stomach so tight he will leave marks. 

Later, Kanda will begin to watch him again - stony silence and contemplative eyes and a gaze Allen can't read no matter how often he tries, how much it infuriates him - and Allen will avoid meeting his gaze, still secretly hoping to be burnt right through.

But for now they sit in silence, Allen’s lips burning and Kanda’s head bowed, battered and bruised and so much more holy than either of them ever wanted to be.

No sound comes from the church, not even from the lips of its exorcist, and it remains as it always has: silent, forgotten. Abandon by all but its ghosts.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and kudos are much appreciated and I am rhymesofblue on tumblr if you want to come yell about this series with me:)!


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